“Well, I will tell you, John,” said Albert, slowly, still feeling his way, “to speak frankly, no doubt there’s a good deal in what you say. I feel that there is. But you ought to consider that it isn’t easy for a man living in a great city, immersed in business cares, and engrossed in the labors of his profession, to realise all these things, and see them as you, who are here on the ground, see them. It’s hardly fair to attack me as heartless, when you present these facts to me for the first time.” “For the first time! You ought to have seen them for yourself without presenting. And then you said Sabrina had often discussed the subject with you.” “Oh, but her point of view is always family dignity, the keeping up of the Fairchilds’ homestead in baronial state, and that sort of thing. You should have heard her this afternoon, telling me how her fathers name used to be coupled with Dearborn County, just as Silas Wright’s was with Dutchess--either Dutchess or Delaware, I forget which she said--but it was very funny.” “Sabrina and I haven’t spoken for I don’t know how long, and we’re not likely to again in a hurry, but for all that I’m bound to say I wish some others of the family had as much pride as she’s got,” said John. “Whatever else she may be, she’s as loyal and as faithful to the family idea, as jealous of the family’s name, as any old Spanish grandee. And I confess the Silas Wright thing doesn’t seem funny to me at all--any fellow with the right kind of a heart in him would feel that it was deucedly pathetic--the poor old maid clinging through the shipwreck to that one spar of support--the recollection of a time when her father was bigger than his county. Such things oughtn’t to be laughed at.” Albert lost his patience. “Confound it, man, do you want to force me into a quarrel--this night of all others! By George, was there ever such a brace of brothers! I come out here to get you by yourselves, to talk over with you some plans that have occurred to me for setting things right here--and I haven’t had a civil answer yet from either of you. First it’s the youngster who scowls and snarls at me, and then you read me lofty lectures on my behavior, and then both together in concerted condemnation. No wonder I come rarely to the farm! It’s enough to sicken any man of family ties, to be bullyragged in this way. I’ve a good mind to tell you you can all go to the devil, and be hanged to you!” The figure on the bucket rose to its feet with a spring, so energetically that there seemed a menace in the action. The village editor restrained this movement with a quiet hand, and a whispered “Keep cool, Seth.” Then he said with exaggerated calmness of voice: